Wishful Thinking
by Lawson227
Summary: Playing around with a certain spoiler from an upcoming ep, plus the shot from the preview reel that shows Caitlin and Barry…. Well—if you've seen the reel, you know what I mean. That said, I'm quite certain every assumption I'm making is likely wrong, so we'll call this canon based on inconclusive evidence.


**Wishful Thinking**

**Disclaimers: **Yeah, yeah...you know the drill. Don't own nothing, just playing in the sandbox.

* * *

He wished he'd looked.

As wishes went, it was probably stupid, but he couldn't help it. He wished he'd looked.

At first, it was nothing more than a memory that had a way of sneaking up on him at unexpected moments; a pleasant diversion—more than pleasant, really. More like the echo of a really great dream. But then, more and more, it began assailing him on what could only be called a regular basis. Caitlin—vodka-soaked and rambling—offering up eerily accurate assessments of his character as she struggled to remove the ridiculously hot dress she'd worn for their night out on the town before finally giving up and imploring him to help. And he had. Then she'd posed the utterly serious question of asking if he'd peeked. And then declaring he deserved a peek.

She was, in a word, remarkable. She got him in a way that no one else not even Iris, ever had. She understood what drove him. Not to mention, everything that held him back. But it wasn't something he'd really dwelled on that night. In a way, it had been easy not to dwell, filled as he'd been with thoughts of Iris and Linda both.

But every so often, a lilting, slurred voice would echo in his mind. Usually last at night, while lying in bed, feeling the aches and bruises from whatever battle he'd most recently fought.

_Did you sneak a peek—at my goods?_

_I wouldn't be much of a hero if I did._

_Yeah… but it's okay if you peeked a little. You deserve a peek for all the good stuff you do._

And every single time he relived that conversation, it was the "you deserve" that resonated most. The firm, unwavering belief she had in him. When it came down to it, Caitlin made him feel good in a way no one else ever had. Made him feel…worthy.

Which was maybe why he hadn't copped a look that night. It wouldn't have been the actions of a worthy man. Or a hero. But he couldn't deny, that steadfast belief she had in him—the memory of her desire to have _him_ stay with her until she fell asleep—had given birth to a longing he would not have been able to put words to that night.

Even now, he couldn't really articularte it—not even to himself. So he settled for the simplest expression—the one that harkened back to the moment he was able to at least acknowledge was when it all began for him.

He wished he had looked.

Who knows what might have happened next?

* * *

She wished it was her.

Story of her life the past year, it seemed.

For the longest time, she'd wished it had been her sealed away in that tunnel instead of Ronnie.

She wished—so many times during those endless months of caring for Barry—that is was her in the coma. If only so she could finally sleep and maybe cease feeling the endless icy cold in which she was perpetually shrouded.

And after Barry woke and they discovered the magnitude of his gift, she'd wished—oh, how she'd _wished_—to be able to run at even a fraction of his speed. Just fast enough to outrun the demons that seemed determined to dog her every waking moment.

But as time went on, however, she found the precise nature of her wish altering in small, subtle ways. She found herself wishing that she could take on more of Barry's burden—if only because surely her choices wouldn't be as impulsive and foolhardy and…and… _dangerous_, dammit.

She really wished she could help him see that as strong and smart and bullheaded as he was—not to mention, fast—he was still all-too-human.

She wished, during those all-too-human moments, that she could do more than merely patch up the physical hurts. Irrational as it was, she wished she could take them on—especially the ones not so readily dressed with bandages and ointment. The ones he kept closely held and hidden away, thinking no one would be able to notice them.

Except she noticed.

Or maybe it was simply that Barry couldn't really hide anything—not from her. Because she _knew_ him. She knew all his secrets. She knew all of him, inside and out, from the location of every freckle and mole that dotted his skin to every subtle shade of green in those eyes that could reveal—or hide—so much.

That was when she realized—she wished it was her.

She wished she was the sole caretaker of the most closely guarded parts of Barry Allen. She wished— with a fierce intensity that frightened her more than a bit—to be the guardian of the most vulnerable part of Barry.

As she watched him cast yet another longing glance Iris' way, Caitlin wished more than she'd ever wished for anything else, that it was her.

* * *

The entire thing had unfolded with the surreal quality of a dream—or more accurately, a nightmare. A shifting meta taking on all their personas and delving deep into the heart of who each of them were.

Their darkest selves.

Their most secret selves.

Barry wasn't certain what unnerved him most—that he'd kissed Caitlin, or that it hadn't really been Caitlin.

Or maybe it was that he had no freaking idea how Caitlin—his Caitlin—felt about it. Fake Caitlin had certainly responded. Enthusiastically, even.

Barry could only pray that Cisco's theory that the meta had absorbed emotional characteristics as well as physical was true.

He really, really hoped it was true and not just Cisco trying to soothe his ego. Because if a kiss with Fake Caitlin could leave him that breathless and lightheaded, he could only imagine what a kiss from the real Caitlin would do.

If he ever got a chance, that is.

Did he want that chance?

Not even a question—hell yes he did.

But did she?

Who the hell knew?

Ever since they'd captured the meta, she'd been avoiding him like he had the plague. And it was really pissing him off. Almost as much as it worried him. He hadn't realized how much he relied on hashing things out with her while she patched him up. She had a way of making him see reason—of soothing him—and he hadn't even realized it until she wasn't there.

"Barry?"

For a second he thought the sound of her voice was just a figment of his imagination—desperation and desire conspiring to conjure her out of thin air only to snatch her away, the way the meta had snatched away a reality he didn't even realize he wanted.

But no—

She really was there, peering around the partially open door to his bedroom.

"Hey—" He rolled off the bed and stood. "How'd you get in?"

She pushed the door open wide enough to step through and held up a key. "Joe's been worried about you. Said you haven't been yourself." She lifted a shoulder. "Given what we all dealt with this week…"

Faint color suffused her cheeks as her voice trailed off.

"I'm really me," he snapped, inwardly wincing at the harsh sound of his voice echoing through the room.

But dammit… she was just here because of Joe. Because they all worried about him. Which was great—except when it wasn't.

Like right now.

All of a sudden the rush of thoughts, angry or otherwise, came to a screeching halt as his brain registered the feel of a soft mouth against his while an equally soft hand—a hand with which he was very familiar—came to rest on his neck, fingertips teasing the short cropped hair at his nape.

He'd thought kissing Fake Caitlin was good. Incredible, even, if he was being perfectly honest. Embodiment of dreams he wasn't even aware he'd had.

But what was happening right now? In his room?

Blew that moment right out of the water.

Blew pretty much every other moment out of the water.

And then she rose on tiptoes, her tongue gently teasing the seam of his lips in silent question he was only too happy to answer.

Only when oxygen became an issue did he reluctantly lift his head. He stared down into her beautiful face—skin flushed, lips several shades darker and lightly swollen—and watched as she blinked slowly, revealing a gleam in her light brown eyes that he'd never seen before. And that he suddenly wanted to see a lot more of.

The corners of her mouth lifted slightly.

"Just in case you were wondering, I'm me, too."

A totally perfect, utterly Caitlin thing to say.

He grinned. "There's no one else you could be."

And because she was the real Caitlin and because she knew him so damned well, she understood everything left unsaid yet that lived in the spaces between each word. Everything he couldn't quite say yet, but that he still needed her to know.

The smile that crossed her face at his words said she understood him, loud and clear, and sent a spark stronger than anything he'd ever felt, even from the Speed Force, shooting through him. His body began thrumming with the fine intense vibrations he'd only previously experienced on rare—really rare—occasions.

Caitlin's eyes widened—first with surprise, then with dawning comprehension. She moved one hand from his neck to rest on his chest, her fingertips drawing light patterns over his heart. Meeting his gaze, she quietly said, "There is something I have to tell you, though."

He lifted his brows, but remained otherwise silent, calmed by the feel of her hand on his chest.

"I…wasn't exactly honest before."

His brows rose higher.

I mean, yes, Joe's worried about you—everyone is—but I was the one who sought him out. Who asked if I could come see you."

He was pretty certain his brows had inched past his hairline and were headed for the crown of his head.

"Because you were worried about me?"

"Well… yes, but—" Fresh color flooded her cheeks and she shifted restlessly in his loose hold.

He tightened his hold, stilling her movements even as the vibrations increased in his own body. "But what?"

Her voice was very low. "I…_needed_ to see you, Barry."

The vibrations kept increasing until he felt like he was little more than live wire energy. Much more and he'd be shooting off sparks. Still, he managed a relatively calm, "Why?"

"Because…" Her voice dropped further. "Because…" She stared up at him, wordless. Caitlin Snow—brilliant, beautiful Caitlin—was without the words to express herself. But before he could process the thought and what it might mean, she rose and sealed her mouth to his once more and if he thought their first kiss was something…

For the first time since the accident and the discovery of his gift, he wished he had the ability to slow things down—because he wanted this moment to go on forever. The discovery, the exploration, the touching and tasting and seeing—all the different things that made being with someone for the first time so amazing.

Late afternoon shadows cloaked the room in an intimate dimness as they lay together, her head on his chest and her hand drawing new patterns over his heart.

"Because why, Caitlin?"

He could feel her smile against his chest. "I thought I demonstrated rather ably."

He laughed and captured her hand in his. "You did, although I wouldn't mind another demonstration. You know I can be a little slow on the uptake."

"That wasn't my experience."

Shaking his head, he tightened his hold on her, bringing her supple, warm body even closer. The feel of her long, smooth leg insinuating itself between his momentarily derailed his train of thought, but he was determined to get an actual answer. Even if he suspected he knew—he'd also been known to be wrong before. Really wrong.

He did _not_ want to be wrong about this.

"Caitlin—"

"Because I wished it was me, Barry. I wished it was really me you had kissed and I didn't know how you felt about having kissed me or who you thought was me and I was just so jealous I couldn't see straight and…I needed to know if _you _wanted it to be really me, too."

The words emerged in a garbled rush that maybe a normal man couldn't have understood. Or a man who didn't really know Caitlin couldn't have understood. Given that Barry was neither quite normal and he did really know Caitlin, he understood it all.

"I wanted it to be you, Caitlin." He leaned back and took her head in his hands, tilting it far enough back to meet her gaze. "And after I realized it wasn't you, all I could think was that I really wished it could be you."

She smiled, slow and wide and the happiest he'd ever seen her. "You wished it was me?"

"I thought I was kissing you, remember?" He pushed a wayward strand of hair back from her face. "Yes, I wished it was you."

"And I wished it was me." Her smile widened further. "Isn't there some law of probability about two people making the same wish at the same time?"

He lowered his head, pausing with his mouth just shy of hers. "We're scientists—I'm sure we can figure it out." He closed the distance between them, whispering, "Later," against her mouth. After a long, lingering kiss, he lifted his head just far enough to say, "But right now, I have a few more wishes I want to make come true."

* * *

**AN: **Personally, I suspect Barry is a bit of a closet romantic—anyone who's held a torch for someone as long as he has with Iris has to have a deep-seated romantic streak. Like I said at the outset, I'm making huge suppositions and leaps of logic, but the story needed out.


End file.
